


A Good Day

by LilacSolanum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Discussions of death, Drinking, Gen, Terminal Illnesses, mention of alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25150627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum
Summary: But now, Magister Alexius had been confronted and defeated in what for most people had been a matter of minutes, shoved into shackles and removed from the public. It was easy to watch when he’d had space from Alexius for years, had his hurt dulled into an ache, a knitted bone that occasionally whined at the rain. Reality had only caught up to what Dorian had already accepted. For Felix, it was different.Felix and Dorian talk one last time before Felix returns to Tevinter.
Relationships: Felix Alexius & Dorian Pavus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	A Good Day

Felix and Dorian had been brought together by Alexius as they always had been, though the man of intelligence and integrity they had once known was gone. That Alexius had drowned in grief, and a new Alexius had been reborn in the ashes, fueled by mad obsession. They had immediately been wrapped in a world of intrigue and doom, had no time for brotherly reminiscing.

But now, Magister Alexius had been confronted and defeated in what for most people had been a matter of minutes, shoved into shackles and removed from the public. Felix had watched the proceedings, then retreated to his room at the Gull and Lantern. Dorian gave him space. It was easy to watch when he’d had space from Alexius for years, had his hurt dulled into an ache, a knitted bone that occasionally whined at the rain. Reality had only caught up to what Dorian had already accepted. For Felix, it was different.

In the meantime, Dorian had work to do. The Herald, a cold man filled with bitterness and distrust, had barked at Dorian to sort through Alexius’ things without giving Dorian a chance to ask him about the twisted future they had seen. Dorian felt offended by his tone, but he was happy about Trevalyn’s disinterest in processing their experience, and glad for the chance to work. Alexius’s future was bone-deep disturbing, a horror that would bury itself in Dorian and never leave. Dorian would deal with it the way he had dealt with every other traumatizing event in his life thus far, drinking himself silly each night until the memory dulled. Typically, it took around two weeks. He hoped he had the funds.

An elven Inquisition mage joined him in appraising Alexius’ belongings, looking for anything useful, or anything too dangerous to continue existing. Dorian was fairly certain he was sent to ensure Dorian did not lie about an object’s purpose, or slip anything particularly nasty into his pockets. The elf was surprisingly knowledgeable about Alexius’ various arcane and highly illegal fulcrums for a southern apostate, almost suspiciously so. He was also exhaustingly condescending. When the day ended, Dorian retreated to his inn room, his mental capacity utterly leeched by the elf’s personality. He brought a box of Alexius’ nonmagical items with him. He’d give it to Felix tomorrow, after they’d slept, after they’d had time to process.

——

Felix had been staying at the Gull and Lantern for much longer than Dorian, who had camped on the outskirts of Redcliffe, staying out of Alexius’ sight. His room was far more lived-in, and filled with the necessities of the ill. A heated device that evaporated water to dampen the dry air was set next to Felix’s bed, surrounded by medicinal teas and a basket of cooling clothes. The room smelled of eucalyptus. Empty potion bottles had been lined up on a table. Dorian couldn’t help but notice the number of them, and wondered who would mix them for Felix now that Alexius was gone. 

Felix called Dorian in from the bed, where he was sitting, wrapped in a wool blanket that looked more warm than the attractive, because the South was utterly unable to imagine both attributes existing together. There was a fire in the hearth already heating the room nicely, but Dorian suspected Felix still felt somewhat chilled.

He looked like he had when Dorian fled his father, which was to say, like someone who was dying of the Blight. Dorian was surprised that Felix had traveled. He wondered how much of it was Alexius forcing the situation, and how much of it was Felix’s choice. Felix had always adored Orlais, and he and his university friends took frequent trips to Denerim for trade and atmosphere. He hadn’t visited since he contracted the Blight.

Felix smiled brightly at Dorian regardless of his state. Dorian brandished the box of Alexius’ belongings.

“I come bearing gifts. Boring gifts, albeit. Your father travels light, packing only a few changes of clothes, some journals, and dozens of highly illegal artifacts that could burn this city to ashes. Only the necessities.”

Felix held his arms out for the box, the gray blanket slipping down. “I assume I get to keep all that weaponry.” 

“Alas. Lord Trevelyan has decided to play with those toys all by himself,” said Dorian, handing him the box.

“That’s unfortunate. This city might benefit from a bit of burning. The architecture is offensive.”

Dorian laughed, and Felix laughed with him, and Dorian realized he hadn’t heard Felix laugh in years. His color was brighter than it was yesterday. In fact, he looked nearly healthy, like he was on the tail end of a simple cold. As dark as Alexius’ containment was, Alexius’ it must be an unimaginable relief to his son. Dorian hoped the Inquisition was kind in their judgement of him.

Felix shrugged off the rest of the blanket, and went to a desk to open up the box. He traced the sides of the box with his fingertips, then turned to Dorian and smiled. “I’m having a good day. Let’s spend it together.”

They had breakfast sent to the room. It was a Southern affair, porridge with honey and chunks of chewy bread. Dorian was not a fan of Fereldens’ insistence on flavoring their breakfast meals like they were desserts, but with Felix there, it was almost fun; as if they were teenagers again, stealing spirits and pastries during a party and sneaking off somewhere to get gloriously drunk and mock the guests.

Felix had sorted his father’s belongings into three piles: things to dispose of, things to sell, and things to send back home. He had put all of Alexius’ journals in the pile to destroy. Dorian thought that was for the best, and also thought he might take them for himself when Felix was not looking, however painful it might be to read them. 

Felix was frowning at the piles. “He had a ring, inlaid with rubies. Wore it on his left thumb. I always thought it was stylish.”

“Ah,” said Dorian. “That is a sort of magic amplifier that—well. It amplifies.”

“Either you have suddenly become inelegant, or you were about to tell me something very disturbing.”

“Let’s just say I could make you a new one, but it involves the blood of seven unwilling sacrifices. Has anyone wounded you lately? I’ll need scoundrels.”

“There was a girl back at university who used to steal my best pens.”

“A villain!”

“And she was a redhead.”

“Now, _that’s_ a step too far,” said Dorian. He picked up an hourglass from the valuables pile, slowly rotating it up and down. “I suggest we barter this with the innkeeper for an open bar tab. I, for one, could use a drink. Desperately. In fact, my life may depend on it.”

Felix’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’ve got that covered,” he said.

“Oh?” said Dorian as Felix rummaged around in one of his trunks. He emerged holding something wrapped in a cloth. He revealed the bottle inside slowly, carefully, and the sight of it made Dorian’s eyes grow wide.

“Don’t tell me that’s a bottle of Mirabilis aqua vitae,” said Dorian, taking the bottle from Felix and turning it around in his hand. What he saw drew a soft gasp. “This is older than we are!”

“I grabbed all the best in our cellar,” said Felix, grinning. “Some broke in transit, and the others I, well, drank. This, though, I’ve been saving.”

“Good man,” said Dorian in awe, his eyes still on the label. He was savoring even the mere sight of it. “By the grace of Andraste, this should have been saved for the Maker Himself! Are you sure, Felix? People will do anything to attend even a tasting party, nevermind own a bottle of their own. There have been bribes, assassinations, and public begging!”

Felix shrugged. “Who knows what my grandfather did to obtain it. I hope it was a bitter sacrifice, as he was a cruel and bitter man. I take great joy in knowing his shameful, Fade abandoned son gave it to a cocksucking betrayer of blood.”

Dorian burst out in laughter, dark and bitter as it was. He handed the bottle back to Felix. “Well, well. Shall we toast to the late, noxious, and revolting Felix Alexius II?”

Felix took the bottle from Dorian and slowly ran his fingers up its neck, releasing the stopper with very simple magic. He was always doing small tasks with spellwork, unlocking doors with a wave of his hand, or keeping everyone’s drinks cold, and he found great delight in it. Initially, Dorian had found it quaint in a condescending way. As he got to know Felix, he realized it was born from bold, unapologetic pride. Felix would not be ashamed of his lack of power, even if his continued position of Alexius’ heir made him the punchline of vile jokes among the _alti_. Felix used his magic out of defiance, and to show he couldn’t care less. 

“The estates are going to a second cousin in Marothius,” said Felix, as he focused his limited mana on the bottle. “I’ve met him a few times. He’s a complete ass who doesn’t deserve shit. Father didn’t much care about what I did, so I went around smashing whatever seemed dangerous, sold all the antiques and jewelry, and gave the money to the slaves, who I then freed. I only wish I could be there when Humbertus finds what I’ve left him.”

Dorian felt the words in his mouth, the worn platitudes given to the terminally ill. _‘Don’t say that.’ ‘The estates are still yours.’ ‘No one’s dead yet.’_ But the truth was there, a steady heartbeat, thrumming beneath their night of reminiscence and a nigh unattainable liquor. 

“You are remarkable,” said Dorian with a quiet awe.

The cork popped with a dull sound: not a celebration, but a concession.

—

There was, of course, pleasure in the mere taste of quality spirit. The Mirabilis was brewed with a blend of rare grains, grown in secret fields and meticulously malted by a family that whispered the process through the generations, aged in barrels of Orlesian oak shipped from Antiva, previously used for a oloroso. It was unlike anything Dorian had tasted before. But all of that meant nothing against the true art of finery, the pairing of a taste with a memory. 

Dorian went down to the inn’s tavern and asked for tulip glasses, and was answered with a glare and a pair of copper cups. They had no pipette with which to open up the aqua vitae, so they flicked stale water on the surface with their fingers, laughing at the crudeness of it all. They went through all the steps of tasting that they could manage, given the circumstances, analyzing the aromas through the smell of copper, and when they were done they finished their first serving as a shot, another touch of respect for Felix’s grandfather.

The room smelled of dust and warm wood, the aqua vitae smelled of walnut and smoke, and the two became one moment, one memory.

Felix drank slowly and Dorian did not, but their laughter loosened in tandem all the time, and they grew too warm together, their gestures becoming wild and threatening the bottle more than once.

The sun had just set, but it felt much later in the little tavern room, both of them giddy from drink and feeling like schoolboys who had chatted well into the night. They were both on the bed now, side by side, Felix free of the blanket and Dorian without his overshirt. They were sharing memories of their summers at the Alexius estates, opening up about things they couldn’t say before, sharing each other’s secret affairs the other had always known about, but never had confirmed. Dorian’s face felt stiff from too much laughter.

“The Eye of Amorette—well, you know. Dad gave it to me in case it ever got out that I _am_ a mage, technically, and I needed to run from the Templars. But no one ever cared!”

“Your parents took every precaution to hide your magic, and still worried themselves sick whenever a letter took too long to arrive. The Templars had no idea you even existed.”

“Well…”

“Lord Felix, are you insinuating you told people about your power?” asked Dorian, who had long suspected the secret had been loose.

Felix held up his hand, sparks dancing around his fingers. “Only to a trusted few! They all thought it was quite exotic. You know, once I convinced them I only ever disappointed demons, and that if I tried to burn anyone they’d just feel tingly and warm.”

“Come now, don’t sell yourself short! They would at least blistered.”

“Always an optimist,” said Felix. The sparks died in his hand, and he leaned back on the bed and coughed. He cleared his throat. “After the first semester, I just left it on my desk at the dorms.”

“What, like some common paperweight?”

“Yes.”

“You understand that deploying an Eye of Amorette will instantly kill a man, and the materials required to make one cost thousands of royals.”

“I eventually put it on the bookshelf! It is quite the eye-catching piece of decor.”

“The spellwork takes years!”

“People asked if I could get them in contact with the jeweler. One girl in particular told me it must have been a wonderful present.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide. “Please tell me this woman was uninteresting and homely and you had absolutely no reason to impress her.”

“She displays it on her vanity. It’s very fetching,” said Felix. Dorian laughed, appalled but proud, and Felix joined him until he started to cough again. He rolled on his side, away from Dorian. Dorian waited for the fit to subside, wondering what had eventually come between the girl and Felix. As he listened to Felix gasp for breath between spasms, Dorian thought it would be better not to ask.

Dorian placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder as gently as his inebriation would allow. “Would you like me to fetch a healer?” he asked.

“I’m alright,” answered Felix, far too quickly.

They paused, catching their breaths, gold firelight dancing over their shadowed faces. Felix pulled the blanket up and wrapped it tighter around his shoulders, sniffing, and he closed his red rimmed eyes. Dorian imagined, just for a moment, that it was the alcohol that had tired him.

When Felix spoke, his voice was raw and tired.

“I used to hate you,” he said. He kept his eyes closed.

Slowly, Dorian moved away from Felix to pour himself more liquor. “I suspected as much,” he said. His hand was unsteady, and the glass bottle hit the cup with a bright tinkling sound that echoed through the room.

“I thought you might,” said Felix. “My parents loved me, but I was always the son they got, and they made do. You were the son they wanted.”

“At least someone did,” said Dorian bitterly. He drank, finishing half the small cup in one swallow.

“I know,” said Felix, opening his eyes. “When I saw how your own father treated you, I began to hate you less. How very petty of me.”

Dorian focused on the aqua vitae, swirling the gold liquid around just to watch it. “Nonsense. If our positions had been reversed, I would have been far less gracious. There would have been terrible rumors about your genitals.”

“It’s very hard to spread rumors about you, Pavus. There’s already so many out there, and most of them are true.”

Dorian laughed softly, and drained his cup.

Felix sniffed, and slid himself forward until he was lying on his back. “I’ve always wanted to apologize for that. For hating you.”

There was a thin sheen of sweat over Felix’s face, and his hair was damp at his temples. Dorian went to the tavern room’s basin, and summoned ice to the water within it. He wet a cloth. 

“You didn’t have to,” said Dorian.

“Say you accept it anyway. Please.”

He wrung excess water out of the cloth. “Of course,” he said quietly. He placed the cooling cloth on Felix’s forehead.

Felix smiled, relief plain on his face. “I came to love you, in time,” he said. “I learned to be happy that my father was happy. You were good for him.”

“Not good enough,” said Dorian, drunk and truthful.

“No. None of this is anyone’s fault but his. Tell me you know that,” he said, and coughed.

Dorian went back to the basin, this time to boil the water. “I’ll fix you tea,” he said, his voice thick and choked.

He cast with too much power too quickly. The water turned to steam, dispersing through the air in slow curls.

“Dorian.”

He placed his hands on the basin’s edge, leaning forward, staring into the remaining cupful of water.

“Look at me,” said Felix. 

Slowly, Dorian turned. Felix was sitting up again, the cooling cloth in his hands. He was looking at Dorian with a lucid intensity.

“Love isn’t a series of losses and gains. He couldn’t accept what happened, and he did love you. Both those things exist at once. All of his choices were his, and he would have made them with or without you, or anyone else.”

“Here you go again,” Dorian said, attempting levity and failing. “Concerning yourself with others when you’re in a far worse position. Nasty habit, that. People will think you’re a good person, and get all sorts of attached.” His voice broke at the end.

Dorian sat back down on the bed, next to Felix, and leaned against the headboard. He stared at the wall. 

“I won’t think any less of you if you cry,” said Felix softly, encouraging, even. Dorian laughed bitterly.

“No. No. It’s alright. I won’t make myself the evening’s entertainment,” he said. He leaned over and grabbed the bottle off the floor. He pulled deeply, and took a long, slow breath.

“If we’re to share our darkest thoughts, then know I will never forgive myself for our little obsession with a cure. It was idiotic to think we could finally tame the Blight. Neither of us had even studied healing.” Dorian looked down at the bottle in his hands. His speech was slurring. “We should have been with you instead of in a lab.”

“Oh, please. I was in the same denial, and the idea was far from moronic. You said it yourself. If the fifth Blight had reached Tevinter, every magical advancement and breakthrough would be applied, and a cure would have been found. No one has truly tried for one in generations, but magic has never stopped progressing. Perhaps it can be done. There is no reason to not try.”

Dorian smiled, just slightly. “You are too kind. We did discover some interesting things about the Blight’s effect on phoenix eyes,” he said. “Perhaps even important. We didn’t share anything at the time, because we anticipated a full cure, and bits and pieces would have to wait, but—well. It is what it is. When I have the resources, I’ll recreate the research, and send it off to Minrathous.” Dorian turned to Felix. “And I will have them name the discoveries after you.”

“I would like that,” said Felix with a smile. “Thank you.”

Felix fell into a pained coughing fit, and it sounded like torture. Dorian put a hand on his back, and sent a small wave of warmth through his body. Dorian was no healer, but had picked up a few things about illness management while working with Felix. Felix settled quickly.

“You’re sure?” asked Dorian, hesitant.

“Our healer will get me back home, and then she’s agreed to make me comfortable. Yes. I’m sure.”

“Have you considered contacting the wardens? They are far more easily found in Ferelden.”

Felix’s soft laugh was more of an amused exhale. “I can barely hold a sword, never mind fight darkspawn. I wouldn’t last long. I’d rather be dressed in my finest, laid upon a feather mattress, belly full of Orlesian sweets. I have no more reason to care for my figure, you see.”

Dorian didn’t laugh. He brought the bottle to his lips.

He thought of what he’d seen in the not-future, Felix with his skin dried against his skull, pus and drool on his shirt, eyes empty of life but body still living. He remembered the relief he felt when the redheaded woman ignored the Herald’s command and took Felix’s life. “I feel as if I should argue more.”

Felix’s eyes fluttered close again, sleep pulling him under. “I’m tired, Dorian,” he whispered. “I’m so tired.”

“He dragged you too far for too long. If I could have—”

“No. Please. I need to know you understand. There is nothing anyone could have done.”

Dorian took a deep breath, then another, and another.

“I said you could cry.”

“And I am terrible at doing what I’m told.”

Dorian felt for Felix’s hand, and took it into his own. His skin was clammy and his grip was weak and Dorian would never forget the feel of it.

“I do understand,” he said. “I do. That was why I left, after all. And eventually, I will stop questioning that choice. Will that do?”

Felix hummed in agreement.

“Did you find happiness these last few years?”

Felix threaded his fingers through Dorian’s hand and squeezed it. “I had long periods of health, and in my good months, he didn’t much care what I did. Sometimes he’d even be his old self. I spent time in Orlais, seeing all my friends. I prayed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, back when one could. I saw a high dragon fly over the Frostbacks. So, yes. I was happy.”

Dorian felt Felix’s head rest on his shoulder.

“I know you haven’t been happy,” said Felix, “But will you be?”

Dorian closed his eyes. “I don’t know. But my life is my own now. I suppose I’m on my way.”

“That helps,” Felix said.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, and the chill of it caught in Felix’s throat, setting off a coughing fit. Dorian wrapped his arm around him, keeping their hands linked, and pulled him in closer.

“I’ll miss you,” said Dorian. “Maker, but I’ll miss you.” 

“You should,” said Felix. “I’ve been wonderful.” Dorian laughed a hoarse laugh that ended in a sob.

Felix was growing heavier against him, sleep rapidly overtaking him.

“I love you, _frater_ ,” said Felix.

“I love you, too,” whispered Dorian.

Another reassuring squeeze of their linked hands.

“Dorian?”

“Yes?”

“I had a good day.”


End file.
